Runaway: The Story of Abigail
by llovess
Summary: Marauder's era. Abigail James runs away to Hogwarts and gets caught up in a whirlwind of friendship, lies, and a little romance. R&R please! AN-don't own hp, ok? ok. Rated for possible language in the future.


She grew up the third child of eight, with a daddy who was never around and a momma with too much to do and too little time to do it. Daddy spent his days at his bum job at the book store in town, and his nights in the bars and brothels of the city. Momma slaved all day, cooking and cleaning and washing with a baby on her hip and another on the way. Her brothers and sisters ran around the little town of Wingham all day, stealing what they fancied because no one ever had a dime to give them. Even the youngest, little Georgie Jr, only 4 years old, got caught with a sack of candy in his pocket as he walked out the door. The family was generally regarded as the scum of the little magical town. Most of the kids never developed much magical ability, and the ones that did flew off to whatever school would take them and never came back. Only three of the James kids ever got out of that town. Harper James, went off to America, dropped out of her studies when she married a muggle boy, raising four kids now, earning herself a reputation similar to her mother's. Edward James graduated Hogwarts last year, got heavy into magical creatures, especially the deadly kind, and now he traffics dragons onto the black market from Bulgaria. The third just turned 11, and got her letter three days ago; her name is Abigail and she's a scrawny, skinny thing. Legs almost all the way up, bony and clumsy still, acne here and there, and hair that never decided if it was black or brown, curly or straight, most days it hung in thin strings just down to her shoulders. She had her father's eyes, a light, almost mint green, and freckles on her cheeks.

On this particular day, Abigail sat in the dining chairs, swinging her legs and watching her mother cook and her younger siblings run around the table squealing and giggling in their play. In her hands was a letter, dated three days prior, and signed by a man she'd heard of in her dad's book store. She'd read it enough that she knew exactly what it said without having to see the page, but she read from it again anyways. It was August 23rd, that meant she had 8 days before she got on a train and got the h-e-l-l out of Wingham. She grinned a wide grin, showing that she was missing a tooth on the left side, a late bloomer apparently, it fell out last week during a tickle attack from her youngest sister. Abigail looked up at her mother who was whistling and humming a song she claimed she wrote as a girl, but Abigail had heard it on the radio earlier that day and knew better. Her momma didn't want her going to school. Abigail was the oldest left in the house now that Harper was gone. She helped out the most with the dishes and laundry and watched her younger siblings when her momma had to attend to the babies. The twin girls were 9, another girl at 6, then two boys, one 4 years and one 8 months old. The twins were too young to understand how to take care of things, and momma was too worn out and pregnant to be able to watch all five kids at once. Daddy come home every few days of course, but he wasn't much help. He was either drunk, or drinking, or on his way out the door.

Unfortunately, family values never really set in for Abigail. If she'd been trying to be a good daughter instead of being so ambitious all the time she might have stayed, been her momma's good girl a few more years, and never seen herself to the fullest. What it came down to was her collection of chocolate frog cards. The card collection and all those famous witches and wizards off doing amazing things and making headlines. She probably had about a hundred of those things stuffed in an old shoe box from too many Christmases ago. And at the bottom, Abigail had a special one, her favorite. It had originally been Matilda Hopkins, famous for perfecting the "Beauty Charm" and winning herself the title "Most Alluring Witch" from the Daily Prophet. Abigail had torn out a picture of herself from a birthday a few years back and taped it on top of Matilda's picture. It was her prize possession, her one and only goal. Abbi would lay in bed at night and dream about the day she would be crowned something or other, get her face on her own card, be something other than her momma's little helper.

That letter she had in her hands, that was the ticket. And there was one more ticket, in an old peanut butter jar on top of the fridge. Abigail had seen her mother stick any spare bills the family got up there, stashed where her father, who was allergic to peanuts, would never bother to look. Abbi found herself staring at it now, wondering just how far she could get on what was there. She sighed, wanting to ask, wanting to know, but if she even hinted that she might know of it her momma would be the daylight out of her. So she sat quiet among all the noise of the house, looking from her letter to her momma to the jar, and then back to the letter to read it again.

"Gail-" Abbi hated being called Gail, and she glared at her mother, who never turned around to see it. "Gail, for the last time, put down that letter, there's no way your daddy and me are letting you go." Abigail grunted a sigh and was about to protest for the millionth time, but her momma spoke again before she had the chance. "It's gettin' dark, go bring your brothers inside, supper's almost done."

Abigail slid off the chair grumpily, and stuffed the letter in the pocket of her hand-me-downs. Before going out to yell at her younger siblings, she paused at the door and made a nasty face at her mother, bringing a little sense of satisfaction to the young girl.

…

That night, after dinner, and after dessert, and after some television, Mrs. James laid all the kids down for bed. As usual, none of the little ones wanted to, and fussed and played and giggled, and momma yelled and threatened. Eventually everything quieted down, everybody went to sleep, even the baby. The only exception was Abigail, laying there on her top bunk, her chocolate frog card in her hand, watching the face light up and laugh by moonlight. It was way past midnight now, _Only seven days now… _Abbi thought. _A week._ She had to go. She just couldn't stand knowing that her chance was out there, waiting on her, and she was just gonna stay here and play baby sitter instead.

The scrawny thing eased herself out of bed, her too long pajama bottoms swinging as she lowered herself to the ground. She quickly grabbed a bag from the closet, stirring a few pairs of shoes that came tumbling to the bedroom floor. Abbi froze, looking about to see if any of her sister's woke up. After a moment of nothing but a sigh, Abbi proceeded to pull her favorite things from her closet, a pair of shoes, two pair of jeans, and three shirts. Slowly pulling out a drawer in the dresser, trying not to make it squeak, she stuffed a few pair of socks and undies in with the rest of her stash. The only other thing she stopped for was to grab her singy show box from under her and her sister's bunk bed and quietly made her way out of her room. Unfortunately, as she reached the door frame, a voice from behind her stopped her cold, "Abbi where ya' goin'?" her six year old sister asked, propped up on one elbow, rubbing her eye sleepily with the other. Abigail stood for a moment, her heart beating madly in her chest at being caught, her young mind racing to think of what to say.

"I'm just getting some water, go back to bed." she lied, hoping that the little girl was too sleepy to notice the overstuffed bag dangling from Abbi's shoulder. Her sister yawned wide, rubbed her eye once more and nodded. "Bring me some?" she asked in a soft, half asleep voice. Abbi didn't stay long enough to answer, she was out the door and in the kitchen before she let loose the breath she didn't know she'd been holding. She took a moment to catch her breath, let her heart catch up. Calming down from her near panic, she listened intently for the sounds of anyone stirring. Nothing, not even the baby. Pulling over a chair, and wincing when it scrubbed against the tiled floor, she climbed in and grabbed the jar from atop the fridge. This time she didn't bother to pause, didn't bother to listen for anyone following her, Abbi bolted to the door, swung it wide and didn't shut it. She was free, and sprinting across their front yard and toward town. Hair flying loose behind her in stringy, frizzed strands, and a grin on her face like no one would ever believe. She passed the vegetable stand, the newspaper printer, and even her father's own book store, not bothering to slow down or stop, stuffed bag bobbing behind her and hitting her hip with each step. As she made it to the bus stop, and up to the window to buy a ticket she could have sworn she heard her mother's anguished cry as she realized what had happened. Abbi convinced herself it was just her imagination, a crow maybe, and inquired where the bus that was loading outside was headed. The teller replied, Wilkes, and then on to London. _London. _Abbi thought triumphantly. She pulled out some bills and a few coins from her peanut butter stash, almost cutting the total in half, but in return she was handed a one way ticket, and told to hurry. As if she needed to be told that. Abbi hurried out of the station the opposite way she came in, and giving her ticket to the overweight, smelly driver and took a seat in the back of the bus. She constantly looked over her shoulder, toward her home. No lights were on, no one was running after her, they probably didn't even know yet. Her heart skipped about four beats when the air breaks on the bus let out and they started their slow decent onto the highway out of town. Abbi stayed facing the town until the street lights were out of sight. Only then did she turn around and face ahead of her. Dawn was beginning to break to her left, it must have been later than she thought…

After an hour or so, Abigail pulled out the letter from her pocket of her pjs, it was crumpled up with her ticket and her chocolate frog card. She knew she had to get to London, and knew that she had to be at a train platform on September first. Not sure how she would ever manage such a task, Abigail realized that perhaps she'd been a little hasty in her decision making. Her ticket said she'd be stopping at the East London Greyhound Station on August 29th, and at the bottom of her Hogwarts letter it gave a person of contact incase there was trouble. Abbi figured this was trouble, but had no idea what to do about it. If only she really did have magic and could make this letter tell her everything she needed to know. She stared intently for a moment, trying to make it work. Of course, it didn't, and Abbi only felt like a fool for trying. Sheepishly she looked up, meeting the eyes of an older lady dressed almost head to foot in fur, a long feather in the cap atop her head. The grandma's round face and kind grey eyes made Abbi smile a little at her, though only half heartedly, her problem at hand pressing on her.

"Need a pencil, dearie?" grandma said in a breathy, but gentle voice, pulling Abbi's attention back to her.

"Um.." unsure how to talk to her, Abigail blinked a few times and went on. "Well, yeah." What the heck, worth a shot. As the old lady rummaged through her oversized bag of what looked like rabbit fur (making Abbi wonder if the insides looked like rabbit insides, and making her grimace) the young girl noticed the wrinkles on her face, how this part of her and that sagged. It was a sad look for someone who seemed so bring and helpful. Before too much longer, grandma produced a pencil and handed it over. "Um..thanks." Abbi said, trying not to catch her eye before the old lady turned back around in her seat. Pencil in hand Abbi sat there for a moment, not sure what to do with it. Finally, she turned the letter over and proceeded to write on the back:

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

(she had to check three times on the spelling of that.)

I am on a bus, on my way of London. My mom and dad didn't not come with me. I will be at East London Greyhound Station on August 29th. Please send someone to…

She paused at this, not sure what to add, finally she finished it:

…help me. Thank you. Abigail James.

Satisfied that her note got the point across, and nothing was spelled wrong, she stared a little longer. Now what? Trying to think of some way she could send this out to this Professor, the only thing that came to mind were the stupid paper air planes her little brother's hurled at each other across the living room. Figuring this was a lost cause anyways, she began folding. The end result was a lopsided, sad excuse for an airplane. She looked to the front of the bus, and stood up. Undoing the lock that held it in place she opened her window. Almost instantly there was a rush of warm summer air and the bus driver yelled back at her to stop. Abbi shot him a glance, eyes wide with a mix of fear and anticipation. She loosed the airplane into the night and watched as it fluttered behind them until it was lost in the budding light of the sun. Sighing, she put up the window, much to the driver's satisfaction, and sat back down. She was pretty sure she'd seen the pitiful little thing hit the pavement. And now she was sitting on a bus, in the middle of no where, headed toward the big city, with no Hogwarts letter, and little to no hope of ever making it out of that bus station. _Maybe this wasn't the best idea…_Abbi thought. But for all that she couldn't regret it. Because if she hadn't she'd have spent the day watching her siblings, and washing her mother's dishes and wasting her life. Maybe this wasn't ideal, but it beat the h-e-l-l out of home.


End file.
